


That's why it's called a moment of truth

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:58:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he thinks he puts too much weight on her shoulders, expects too much of her just because she’s River, his bad girl who can do anything. Post ATM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's why it's called a moment of truth

**Author's Note:**

> So I was writing Mattex smut and then I took a break and this happened. I’m sorry I keep subjecting you all to my short, pointless fics but I’m pretty sure I’ve gotten this episode out of my system now. Story title from Gavin DeGraw’s Soldier.

He dreams of fish custard, of red hair and old eyes. He dreams of waiting.

 

And then he opens his eyes to his bedroom ceiling, shadows thrown across the wall by the nightlight River insists on having. He can’t say he minds – he doesn’t have fond memories of the dark either. Yawning, the Doctor stretches amongst rumpled bed sheets and recalls his rather vivid dream. It isn’t unusual for him to dream of the Ponds in the week since they’ve been gone, but this is the first time that he hasn’t woken up in tears with River hovering over him and smoothing his hair back.

 

Instead, he feels oddly rested.

 

He feels like, maybe, one day – not today, mind – but one day, the ache in his chest will lessen and he’ll be able to think of his Ponds and smile out of joy because it really had been the _best_. The Doctor feels hope. And that is more than he ever thought he’d have when he was standing over the graves of his two best friends a week ago.

 

Next to him, a lump beneath the sheets rustles and emits a soft sigh before rolling toward him. A leg inserts itself between his own and a slender hand snakes out from the bundle of blankets – she’s stolen them _again_ – to rest on his chest. Warmth steals up his spine and curls around his hearts like a contented cat as the Doctor purses his lips in a failed effort to get a mouthful of curls out of his face and rests a hand on the small of his wife’s back. It’s just so very nice to wake up in the middle of the night – or what passes for night in a time machine – and not be alone. And the not being alone is especially nice because it’s River he’s not being alone with.

 

River, who is a solid, warm and comforting weight against him. River, who is snoring lightly into his neck. River, who has taken care of him for the past week like she would a fragile and delicate child.

 

He remembers the passage of time since he lost the Ponds as one peering through a thick fog and trying to make sense of what might be on the other side. After finding Amy’s letter, he barely remembers anything. There are vague memories of River forcing him to sleep and eat and shower. He also remembers the warmth of her arms around him when he emerged from his hollowed-out daze long enough to grieve – her soothing whisper in his ear, her soft fingers wiping away the tears. She hadn’t once lost her patience with him, though perhaps she should have. He might have benefited from a good slap to snap him out of his stupor. Because he has been so very selfish. He isn’t the only one who lost two people he loved in that graveyard but he’s certainly been acting like it.

 

And of course, River would suffer in silence. When he’s flying the TARDIS “wrong” she’s more than happy to speak up and tell him he’s an idiot but when she loses her parents she pushes away her own grief to make room for his. He will never fully understand his wife. He’s still new to this marriage thing but he’s pretty sure they should be taking care of each other in equal measure. He just hopes he gets better at this when he’s older. River deserves for him to be better.

 

Filled with so much tenderness he still doesn’t quite know what to do with, the Doctor reaches for the hand lying on his chest, intent on lacing their fingers together, just wanting to feel close to her even while she sleeps, offering comfort the only way he knows how – through his actions. But instead, he finds himself tracing his fingers over the delicate bones of her wrist and frowning.

 

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever forget the way she cried out when he tugged on her hand, or the look on her face as she waited for his reaction. She’d been in pain and she’d hidden it from him because she thought he wouldn’t want to see. He’ll never forgive himself for what he forced her to do and though they haven’t really talked about it yet, he still fully plans to have that painful conversation with his wife.

 

Because it isn’t okay.

 

She has been through enough – _he_ has put her through enough – and he’d snapped at her for something she couldn’t control and left her. He left her alone with a Weeping Angel to break her own wrist in order to escape, all because he needed to believe the future could be changed. And River had done it, because she always tries to give him what he needs.

 

He’d thought if anybody could do it, River could. She broke time once just to tell him he was loved. Surely she could do this. She always does what he can’t. But sometimes he thinks he puts too much weight on her shoulders, expects too much of her, just because she’s River, his bad girl who can do anything. It isn’t fair to her for him to put her on a pedestal and expect perfection from her just because she’s so bloody _good_. And it stops here. Now.

 

He is not a good man and no amount of his meekly offered regenerative energy will ever be able to fix that.

 

Running one hand up her back and settling it into her hair as the other laces their fingers together, the Doctor presses a lingering kiss to River’s cheek and silently promises to be a better man, a better husband, than he has been.

 

Ever the light sleeper, River stirs, murmuring sleepily, “Sweetie? What’s wrong?”

 

He nuzzles his nose against her cheek. “Nothing. Go back to sleep, River.”

 

She doesn’t listen, of course. “Did you have another bad dream?”

 

Pressing tiny kisses over her eyes and nose, the Doctor shakes his head.

 

River huffs. “What then?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“What for?”

 

“Everything.” He places a reverent kiss to her hairline and breathes in the scent of her hair – he still doesn’t know how she gets it to smell like honeysuckle. They don’t have honeysuckle shampoo – he _checked_. “For being an idiot. But mostly everything.”

 

She lays a warm hand against his cheek and squints up at him in the dim light of their bedroom, studying his face. Whatever she sees must satisfy her because her eyes clear and her expression lightens as she smiles. “You’re back.”

 

It isn’t a question but he answers it anyway, a genuine smile on his face for the first time in a week. “I’m back.”


End file.
